The journey back to the human capital was somber. Of the fifty warriors who had ridden out, only eighteen returned. Captain Darian had died covering the retreat of his men. Several of the surviving Temple Guardians bore wounds that would leave them permanently scarred or crippled.
Jason rode in silence, the pain of his own injuries nothing compared to the weight of failure pressing down on him. General Thorne had attempted to reassure him, pointing out that they had gained valuable intelligence about the enemy's capabilities. But the words rang hollow. They had been outmaneuvered, outfought, and utterly defeated.
And it was his fault.
He had led them into a trap. He had underestimated the Demon King's power. He had failed the men and women who trusted him with their lives.
"Champion?" Commander Elysia's voice broke through his dark thoughts. She rode beside him, her face pale from blood loss but her posture still straight and proud. "We're approaching the city gates."
Jason looked up to see the white spires of Lumina rising against the afternoon sky. The Temple of Light dominated the skyline, its golden domes catching the sunlight. Once, the sight had filled him with purpose. Now it felt like an accusation.
"What do we tell them?" he asked, his voice rough from hours of silence.
"The truth," Elysia replied simply. "We faced the enemy. We learned. We will adapt."
A flare of anger sparked within Jason. "We were slaughtered."
"Yes," she agreed without flinching. "And next time, we will be prepared."
As they passed through the city gates, word of their return spread quickly. Citizens lined the streets, their expressions shifting from joy to horror as they counted the returning warriors. There were no cheers, no flower petals thrown from windows. Only silence and the occasional sob as a parent or spouse recognized a missing face among the survivors.
The contrast with their triumphant departure couldn't have been more stark. They had ridden out as conquerors. They returned as survivors.
High Priest Alaric awaited them at the temple steps, his aged face grave as he took in their reduced numbers. His eyes met Jason's briefly, then dropped to the bloodstained bandages visible beneath the Champion's armor.
"Get the wounded to the healers," he commanded, his voice carrying across the square. "The war council will convene at dusk."
Jason dismounted stiffly, his body protesting every movement. The Ursidae demon's claws had left deep gashes across his chest. Although the wounds had begun healing with unnatural speed—a benefit of the Goddess's blessing—they still burned like fire.
A temple attendant approached to take his horse, her eyes wide at the sight of his injuries. "Champion, you should see the healers immediately."
"Later," Jason said, his voice harder than he intended. "I need to prepare my report."
-----
The great hall of the Temple of Light was subdued when Jason entered hours later. The usual bustle of priests, petitioners, and warriors was absent, replaced by a respectful hush. Word of the mission's failure had spread throughout the city.
The war council awaited him in the same chamber where they had planned the ill-fated assault. General Thorne had arrived before him, his head now bandaged, his expression grim as he spoke in low tones with Lord Commander Taric. Marshal Garrick paced near the map table, his massive frame tense with restrained energy. Commander Elysia sat in a chair, still pale but cleaned and bandaged, a cup of herbal tea clasped in her hands.
And at the head of the table, High Priest Alaric stood with three senior priests, their white robes and solemn faces forming a tableau of judgment.
"Champion," Alaric greeted as Jason entered. "We are ready to hear your report."
Jason approached the table, standing tall despite his injuries. He would not hide behind excuses or soften the truth.
"The mission was a complete failure," he began, his voice steady. "We were expected. The demons had prepared defenses in anticipation of our attack. What we believed to be a lightly guarded outpost was actually a carefully laid trap."
"Impossible," Marshal Garrick growled. "Our scouts reported minimal defenses just days ago."
"The scouts saw what the demons wanted them to see," Commander Elysia interjected. "They concealed their true numbers and fortifications until we were committed to the attack."
Jason nodded. "The temple grounds were ringed with hidden pit traps. Archers were positioned along the valley walls. Insectoid demons waited on the roof with crystalline projectiles. And beneath the temple itself, Ursidae warriors were stationed in concealed chambers."
"A coordinated defense," Lord Commander Taric mused, his scholarly mind already analyzing the tactics. "Unusual for demons. They typically rely on brute force and overwhelming numbers, not subtlety."
"This was different," Jason agreed. "They knew we were coming. They were waiting for us."
"A spy in our ranks?" General Thorne suggested, his scarred face darkening.
"No," Jason said firmly. "I believe it was the Demon King himself. He... sensed us somehow."
A murmur ran through the council. Alaric leaned forward, his gnarled hands gripping his staff. "Explain."
Jason hesitated, recalling the moment the temple doors had opened, the wave of darkness that had rolled across the battlefield.
"He has power beyond anything in your histories," he said finally. "The darkness itself obeys him. And when our eyes met across the battlefield, I felt... something. A recognition. As if he knew exactly who I was and why I had come."
"You saw him then? The Demon King?" Alaric pressed, his voice urgent.
"Yes." Jason closed his eyes briefly, summoning the memory. "Crimson skin. Golden eyes. Obsidian horns. He carried a sword with a wavy blade that seemed to drink in the light. And the shadows moved at his command, like living things."
The council members exchanged troubled glances. One of the senior priests, an ancient man named Venrah who specialized in demon lore, spoke up for the first time.
"The shadow manipulation matches ancient accounts. But the sword—Nightfang, it was called in old texts—was believed lost when the previous king was slain."
"It's found its way back to its master," Jason said grimly. "Along with all his powers."
"You mentioned recognition," Commander Elysia prompted, studying him closely. "What did you see in him?"
Jason hesitated again. What had he seen in those golden eyes? Uncertainty? Reluctance? Fear? No. That had been a momentary impression, nothing more. What he'd really seen was calculation. A predator assessing its prey.
"Weakness," he said firmly. "A moment of hesitation. He could have pressed his advantage when our forces broke, but he held back. We have to exploit that hesitation next time."
High Priest Alaric's expression remained troubled. "You believe there is weakness in this king?"
"I believe he's not the unstoppable force of your legends," Jason replied. "He has power, yes. Tremendous power. But power alone doesn't win wars. Resolve does."
The words seemed to reassure the council. General Thorne nodded approvingly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Marshal Garrick ceased his pacing, a spark of hope returning to his eyes.
"What would you recommend, Champion?" Alaric asked.
Jason turned to the map table, where the figurines representing their forces still stood in formation around Shadowthorn Valley. With a sweep of his hand, he knocked them aside, the symbolic act emphasizing the complete reset of their strategy.
"We need to know our enemy better," he said firmly. "Their different types, their abilities, their weaknesses. The Demon King may have power over shadows, but what happens when he faces pure light?"
He reached for his sword, still sheathed at his side. As he unsheathed it, golden energy rippled along the blade, illuminating the chamber. The divine power within him surged, briefly overwhelming the pain of his injuries.
"When we met on the battlefield, his shadows split around my light," Jason continued, lifting the glowing blade. "There's a balance there—a weakness to exploit."
"A direct attack failed," Lord Commander Taric observed. "What do you propose instead?"
Jason re-sheathed his sword, the golden glow fading. "Training. Preparation. Intelligence gathering. Before we face the Demon King again, we need to understand exactly what we're fighting."
He turned to Venrah, the demon lore expert. "You said the shadow manipulation matches ancient accounts. What else do those accounts tell us about the Demon King's powers? His limitations?"
The ancient priest considered the question carefully. "The old texts speak of several weaknesses. His shadow powers are strongest at night or in enclosed spaces. In direct sunlight, they wane considerably. And certain blessed materials—silver, salt, and ash from the sacred fires—can resist his darkness."
"Then we adapt," Jason said decisively. "Silver-edged weapons. Daylight attacks. Tactics designed to counter shadow manipulation."
His confidence seemed to spread through the room. The council members straightened, their expressions shifting from defeat to determination.
"And what of the temple?" High Priest Alaric asked. "The Void Chamber itself? Our intelligence indicated the demons were conducting some kind of research there."
Jason recalled the blue-skinned demoness—Lyria—directing the excavation of the ancient stone circle. "They were uncovering something called the Marriage Circle. I heard one of the scholars mention it before the fighting began."
At this, Venrah's eyes widened. "The Marriage Circle? They're excavating the Marriage Circle?"
"You know of it?" Jason asked.
The ancient priest nodded slowly, his expression troubled. "It dates back to the time of peace, when the Human Queen and Demon King were joined in matrimony. The circle was said to contain powerful magic that bound our peoples together."
"Matrimony?" Jason repeated incredulously. "A human married the Demon King?"
"It was a different time," Venrah replied, his voice distant with memory. "Before the betrayal. Before the war."
"What would the demons want with this Marriage Circle now?" General Thorne demanded. "What power could it hold?"
Venrah shook his head. "I cannot say with certainty. But if they seek to activate ancient magic, we must assume their intentions are hostile."
"Then we redouble our efforts," Jason declared. "We train harder. We learn everything we can about demon physiology, their different types, and their weaknesses. And we prepare specialized tactics for each."
He turned to face the entire council, standing tall despite his injuries. The momentary doubt he had felt on the battlefield was gone now, burned away by the steel of resolve.
"The Demon King may have won this battle, but the war has just begun. Next time we meet, he'll find I'm not so easily defeated."
High Priest Alaric studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "The Goddess chose well," he said quietly. "Even in defeat, you inspire hope, Champion."
"Not hope," Jason corrected. "Determination."
-----
When the council finally adjourned, the night was deep. Jason stood alone on one of the temple's high balconies, gazing northward toward the demon territories. His wounds throbbed beneath their bandages, but he welcomed the pain. It was a reminder of his failure, a goad to drive him forward.
The momentary flicker of his powers during the battle troubled him. It had happened twice now—first during the initial council meeting, then at a critical moment facing the Ursidae demon. Both times, the golden energy had stuttered, dimming briefly before surging back.
He held out his hand, summoning a small measure of the divine power. Golden light bloomed in his palm, steady and strong. Whatever the fluctuation had been, it wasn't happening now. Perhaps it was linked to stress or proximity to powerful demonic entities.
Or perhaps...
No. He pushed the thought aside. The Goddess had chosen him. Her power flowed through him. That was all that mattered.
His mind returned to the moment his eyes had met those of the Demon King across the battlefield. There had been something in that gaze—something unexpected. Not just the hesitation he had reported to the council, but something more. Something... human.
Ridiculous. The Demon King was the embodiment of everything Jason had been sent to destroy. A monster in the truest sense. Whatever he had glimpsed in those golden eyes was nothing more than a tactical ploy, an attempt to make him hesitate.
And it had worked. For a crucial moment, Jason had faltered, allowing the demons to press their advantage.
It would not happen again.
"Next time," he whispered to the distant mountains, "I won't hesitate."
The northern stars offered no response, their cold light falling equally on human and demon lands. But as Jason turned to leave the balcony, he felt a renewed sense of purpose burning within him.
The Demon King had revealed himself. Revealed his power. But in doing so, he had also revealed that he could be hurt, could be challenged, could be defeated.
All Jason needed was the right weapon, the right moment, and the unshakable resolve to do what he had been summoned to this world to accomplish.
The Goddess had chosen him for a reason. And he would not fail her again.